Experiments
by GingerWholock
Summary: John leaves Sherlock doing an experiment...bad idea. What will he find when he comes back?
1. Chapter 1

_Authors notes: I know, I shouldn't start another fanfic since I'm already writing one, but this idea just came to me and I had to let it out! So...yeah...I should really stop having dreams about Sherlock...anyways, onwards!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or it's characters. Boo._

"Get some milk!" was the last thing John Watson heard as he shut the door. He was off the the supermarket again, though he might end up just going to Lidl. Supermarkets don't agree with him. He had left Sherlock doing one of those weird experiments. He just hopes he's still in one piece when he gets back.

He arrived at a t-junction, left to Morrisons, right to Lidl. He decided on Lidl, he wasn't going to risk looking like a moron again, shouting at a machine.

About thirty minutes later, he stumbled through the front door of 221b Baker Street. Using his leg to kick the door closed, he got bombarded by a worried looking Mrs Hudson.

"Oh thank goodness you're here, John! There's been a few banging noises coming from upstairs, and I'm sure I saw smoke!"

"I'm sure it's nothing Mrs Hudson, but I'll go and check if you want."

"Thankyou John! You're so good for him, you know?" John mumbled in response, and started upstairs, dragging the shopping up with him.

Opening the door, he was met by a thick smog of smoke, that smelt suspiciously not smoke-like. It smelt like...vanilla? Has Sherlock been _cooking? _

"Sherlock?" he called out. He's lived in the flat long enough to make his way around without seeing, but he was always cautious in case of some experiment lying around. He headed for the kitchen, dumping the shopping in the corner, and saw a figure, probably Sherlock, opening a window.

"You ok?" he asked. The smoke disappeared swiftly, but what stood in front of him shocked him more than when Harry told him she was gay.

What stood in front of him was a twelve year old boy with curly brown hair, grey-blue eyes and a suit hanging off him.

"Sherlock?" he asked, carefully. It couldn't be him. That would be impossible. The boy looked around sheepishly.

"Wasn't me!"

_I thought of it. It amused me...so I decided to write it! It turned out how I planned, and I'm also planning on making him figure out a case...but in miniature. So yeah...keep reading for chapter two! And review? You know you want to! _


	2. Chapter 2

_Yay! Chapter two! Don't really have much to say except...enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: The flying purple people eater says 'it's not hers!' I also don't own flying purple people eater..._

"You're not Sherlock," John argued.

"Yes I am!"

"No, you're not. That would be impossible."

"How many impossible things have you witnessed recently, John?" the young boy inquired. John was momentarily shocked, but then an idea popped in his head.

"But Sherlock has black hair!" he exclaimed, looking smug.

"That I can explain. My hair got darker the older I get, but if you had been looking close enough, you'd have realised that my hair was never completely black," the kid concluded.

John hesitated, the arguments in his head were weak.

"Ok, you say you're Sherlock, then prove it!"

"How?"

"Do what you do best!" The supposed 'Sherlock' looked confused.

John sighed. "Deduce!"

"Oh...sorry my mind is a bit slow since it has shrunk a bit. Right, you stayed at Sarah's last night, obviously because you told me. Lilo this time. You had toast for breakfast with a glass of milk and you got Sarah to drop you off here instead of getting a taxi, like you usually would. This is because you're still a bit apprehensive about taxis from 'A Study in Pink' ,as you called it in your blog, so you don't like getting in one by yourself. Also, Sarah has quite a new car. Will I continue?"

"How did you get all that?"

"Lilo because last time you slept on a couch you had a stiff neck, now you don't. You also smell of chlorine. Breakfast was easy, you have some butter stuck on your fingers, butter toast. Milk because there's still some left over your upper lip. When you get a taxi you usually keep the receipt out so you can put it straight in the bin so therefore you got a lift. Also, you could have got a taxi back but decided on a lift, hence the apprehension. New car, new car smell, simple!"

John gaped at him. A normal twelve year old wouldn't have known that. "Ok, maybe you are Sherlock. What the hell happened?"

Sherlock laughed nervously (which was unusual for him.)

"Hehe, well, I mixed things that shouldn't have been, and since none of it could really harm me, I, um, drank it."

"You you what? You _drank_ it? Why? Why on Earth would you _drink _something that you didn't know the after-affects were?"

"I was bored. Also, do you think you could get me some clothes? I'm feeling a bit...uncomfortable."

Only then did John take in Sherlock's appearance. He had to admit, it was quite funny. Ok, it was very funny. So much, in fact, he couldn't stop himself from bursting out laughing.

"It's not that funny," Sherlock pouted.

"God you're even more childish now aren't you?" John then realised what he had said and mentally hit himself. Sherlock tried to give him a 'you're an idiot' look, but he hadn't mastered it yet, and it came out pretty...adorable. As in childlike.

"Clothes? Please?" the young Sherlock asked again. He may have only been twelve, but he almost came up to John's shoulders. So he'd always been that tall.

"Ok, ok! I'm going! What age should I get? Twelve? Or thirteen seeing as how tall you are?" the doctor questioned.

"Whatever you think will fit," replied Sherlock.

John walked out and attempted to explain the situation to Mrs Hudson, who then tottered upstairs to go check on him. _She always has been like his mother, _John thought. He flagged a taxi and set of to the Shopping centre. _This is the perfect chance to embarrass him, but that would be mean._

Meanwhile, back in Baker Street, the twelve-year-old Sherlock was attempting to get to the bathroom without falling over, and was trying to convince Mrs Hudson that he was fine.

_There it is! Oh, wait 'til you hear what clothes I'm making John get him, and since I'm thirteen, I can make it whatever I want without it being pervy. (Anyone want a heads up about it, so they don't have a heart attack at sudden images (it's not going to be THAT bad, but it will be adorable) then just ask and I'll message you.) Like always, please review!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Don't set your hopes too high for the clothes, even if it will melt in your mind! (Well, the idea did in mine.) Enjoy chapter three!_

_Disclaimer: It isn't mine._

Lestrade looked out the latest victims living room window and saw John Watson approach with, wait, who was that? A _child._

The boy looked about twelve or thirteen and was wearing black skinny jeans, one of those shirts that you leave open and where a t-shirt underneath and baseball boots.

"Why did you get me skinny jeans?" Sherlock asked John accusingly. He was not impressed.

"That's what kids where these days, and you looked like the type that would where them," John replied.

"Ah, that explains the boots." Sherlock still didn't look like he completely believed the story.

Lestrade walked up to them. "John, you do realise children aren't allowed on the crime scene, don't you?"

"Eh, I think I need to talk to you for a minute, in private," John looked sheepish. The two men stalked off, but not before John gave a strong word to Sherlock telling him to stay put and if anyone asked, John's his uncle.

Of course, Sherlock was only planning on obeying half of that command. By the time the doctor and the inspector, who looked shocked for once, returned, Sherlock was busy annoying Anderson.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked,sounding just like a child would. Anderson looked down, a slight expression of disgust on his face. He clearly disliked children.

"I'm Anderson, wait, why are you on a crime scene? What are you, thirteen?"

"Actually, I'm twelve, what do you do? It doesn't look like you do much though.." Sherlock started to ramble. John cut him off.

"Sherlock!" The boy looked up at him innocently.

"Yes?"

"Stop annoying Anderson, you know perfectly well who he is and what he does!" Lestrade butted in.

"Wait, Sherlock? _That's _Sherlock? How did that happen?" Anderson blurted out. After another session of explaining, Lestrade showed John and mini Sherlock inside.

In the master bedroom, a woman with shoulder-length brown hair was lying under the covers in a t-shirt and jogger bottoms. If you didn't know she was dead then you would have thought she was sleeping.

"Valerie Atkinson, mid-thirties, looks like she's been suffocated by a pillow. She was found by her daughter, Freya Atkinson, who was sleeping out at her friends, just came in and found her here," Lestrade started, gesturing to the bed.

"No husband?" John asked.

"No, divorced. We've got someone trying to contact him now."

Sherlock was looking around the feet for some reason, but feet can be important, as they learnt from one of their past cases. Suddenly, he bolted up and headed for Lestrade.

"I need to ask the daughter something," he requested. The doctor looked confused, but Lestrade, who was used to the strange requests, murmured a quick reply and went off to search for the girl in question.

"What do you need to ask the daughter?" John asked, but to no avail. Sherlock was in his own little world again.

True to his word, Lestrade returned with the daughter, who looked exactly like her mother, but about thirteen years old. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, and a mixture of grief and confusion was visible on her face.

"Who are you? I've already answered all the policemen's questions!" she exclaimed.

"We're not the police," Sherlock began, earning another confused look from Freya. "We're consulting detectives."

"You? You're a kid!"

"Yeah, but he's a very smart kid who needs to ask you a question," Lestrade explained. John thought it was best if he stepped in.

"I know you're distressed, but you're going to have to try. You want us to catch the person who done this, don't you?" John said kindly.

"Of course I do! Ask me whatever you want, and I'll try and answer it as detailed as possible," she answered, determined to help.

"Ok Sherlock, shoot," Lestrade said. All eyes turned on the young detective, who, since he was twelve and still had some twelve-year-old characteristics, squirmed under the sudden attention.

"Right. Was your mum a light sleeper?"

"What? Why?" Freya questioned.

"It might help, was she? Or was she a heavy sleeper?"

"Oh, erm, she was quite a light sleeper I suppose," she answer, quite vaguely.

"Light enough that if you came into her room she would wake up?"

"Yeah, like the time when I was setting up a prank for April fools day, she woke up straight away and caught me red handed. Literally, it involved paint. Red paint," Freya replied, smiling at the memory. For a moment, she looked happy.

"Thankyou Freya, that's all I needed to ask really," Sherlock said.

"Really? Can I stay for a minute, I've always wondered what detectives actually do to work things out," Freya asked innocently.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Lestrade was about to argue, before Freya cut him off.

"Please? I might preoccupy my mind!"

"Well, if you must, but you should really ask..."

"Can I stay Sherlock? Please can I?" Freya pleaded.

_People need to stop cutting me off, _Lestrade thought.

"Of course you can!" Sherlock obliged, worrying the elder men in the room. "Just as long as you realise we'll be talking about your mum, and it might upset you to hear people talk like that, trust me."

The sincere look on Sherlock's face obviously sealed the deal. Freya nodded and the deducting started.

"She was killed somewhere else," Sherlock stated blandly, The 'k' word made Freya flinch slightly, but only Sherlock saw.

"How did you figure that out?" asked John. _He must be his father, though they don't really look alike, _Freya thought.

"If she was in bed at the time, she would have woken up and there would have been more disturbance where her arms and legs were, because it is likely that she would have thrashed about," Sherlock explained.

"Why would she thrash about?" Lestrade's turn to ask.

"If you woke up with a pillow pressed to your face, then you would thrash too."

"That's amazing," Freya praised.

"Why do people keep saying that? I mean, other people just call me freak amongst other things," Sherlock thought out loud.

"Sherlock! If she wasn't killed here, then where was she killed?" Lestrade asked, getting back to the subject at hand.

"You're missing something important here. If she wasn't killed here, then it's likely that she wasn't smothered by a pillow."

So the question is how was she killed?" John concluded, slightly unsure.

"Exactly! Have you checked her mouth?" Sherlock aimed this question at Lestrade.

"What?" the grey-haired man asked.

"I said have you checked in her mouth?" Sherlock repeated.

"Erm, no, why would we if we thought she was suffocated?"

"John!" Sherlock called, though the two detectives were half way there already. John put on some latex gloves and opened Valerie Atkinson's mouth. The tongue had swollen up to double this size it should be and was disturbingly yellow in colour.

"She wasn't suffocated," John stated, "She was poisoned."

_Yay! This one's longer just like you asked, Phoenix on cloud nine. So this is my attempt at making a case, and I sort of know where it's going, but otherwise I'm just making it up as I go along. Thanks to; You're-Fan and Reallyverybored who reviewed and I couldn't message you, and thanks to everyone one else who reviewed too! Chapter four will come in due time, but might be a little later because I've got a lot to do over the next few days, but I'll try!_


	4. Chapter 4

_I know I haven't updated in about forever, and I'm sorry! So I'm going to make this one long for you guys, then after this the updates will come slower because, dun dun dunnnnn, I go back to school on Wednesday. Grr. So here it is, I promise more Anderson-bashing and supreme young-Sherlock stupidity :)_

_Disclaimer: My name isn't BBC._

"Hello, who are you then?" asked Sergeant Sally Donovan. Sherlock stopped, confused for once before realising she doesn't know who he is. For all she knows, he could be a normal twelve-year-old boy. Donovan noticed his confusion.

"Are you ok?" Sherlock laughed at the fact that the sergeant was unknowingly being kind to him.

"I'm fine, I'm just waiting for John to finish talking to Lestrade," he replied. It was now Sally's turn to be confused.

"How do you know him?"

"He's my uncle." Sherlock easily lied. He had already had this conversation with various other policemen.

"Oh. And he brought you here? I wonder why he isn't here with the freak. I mean the consulting detective. You look a bit like him, actually," she bambled. Sherlock inwardly smirked.

"Really? Who's 'he'?" He wanted to see what she would say about him while he isn't around. Probably the same thing.

"He's a consulting detective every now and then. In my opinion, he's a waste of space."

"Why did you call him a freak?" Of course, Sherlock already knew the answer, but he was intrigued to see if she would tell him.

Sally seemed to think over this for a minute before answering.

"He doesn't feel emotion like any normal. He gets off on this, you know? He enjoys the death and the mystery about it. One day, he won't be helping with a body because he'll be the one that put it there."

"Sherlock!" John shouted, arriving with Lestrade, Anderson trailing behind them. "What did I tell you about annoying people?"

"I wasn't _annoying _her. I was asking questions, and she starting talking to me first, so I don't think that counts as annoying her." Sherlock replied, childishly. Since he was twelve, he still acted like a child.

John sighed. "Didn't I tell you to stay where you were?" He mentally kicked himself, remembering that it was still Sherlock.

"Yes, you did. But where I was everything was so boring, so I decided to go to the shop for some skittles." The three adults, and Anderson, looked at him weirdly. Sherlock just smiled innocently, in his mind this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Skittles?" asked Anderson.

"Yes, Anderson, that's what I said. I thought even you would be able to understand that," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Something clicked inside Donovan's head. Her eyes widened.

"Wait a minute, you're the freak?" Everyone nodded. "And I've been talking to you about you..." She trailed off.

An awkward silence fell on the group. Sherlock put his left hand on top of his right, curled the fingers round, stuck out the thumbs and started moving them as if they were paddling.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Lestrade asked.

"The awkward turtle!" Sherlock exclaimed. Everyone looked shocked at this, since it was very out of character for him. Then they realised that he was twelve.

"You were a weird child, weren't you?" John already knew the answer. But he didn't expect this sort of explanation.

"What, weirder than I am as an adult? Not really, because the older you get the more normal you get, but I was a slightly insane child, and now I'm more insane than I was, so that theory doesn't make sense. Imagination wise, yes, I was weirder. That's why I'm imagining a giant burrito coming down the street. Which is weird, I don't even like burritos!"

As Sherlock tried to catch his breath, John took this as a moment to take a proper look a the young detective. It had been three days since they had been introduced to the case, and Sherlock hadn't solved it yet because his mind was slightly slower as a twelve-year-old. Looking at him properly, he realised he hadn't ate or slept since then.

"Sherlock. We're going home, and you're going to have some food then go to bed," John commanded, sounding like a stern father.

"Why?" Sherlock whined.

"Because it's unhealthy to start with, even more now that you're twelve." By this point John was already dragging Sherlock towards a taxi he had flagged, after saying a quick goodbye to the group. Who, I might add, were staring at the site of Sherlock Holmes being forced into a taxi, before finally giving in and sitting down with a sulk.

Two hours later, John found himself, yet again, coming in with a ton of shopping. Opening the door, he found a certain detective sitting on the floor. Eating slices of cheese. That were dipped in melted chocolate.

"What the hell are you eating?" he exclaimed.

"Cheese and chocolate. It tastes surprisingly nice," Sherlock murmured through a mouthful of mush.

"Why?" he simply asked.

"You said I needed to eat something, and I fancied cheese _and _chocolate, so I mixed them together." Sherlock got up and walked over to the settee and plonked himself down. John predicted that he wasn't going to help already, so he had started towards the kitchen.

"John?" Sherlock shouted.

"Yeah?"

Sherlock hesitated. "Can I have a hot chocolate?"

John smiled.

"You're lucky I have cousins your age," he said, while producing some Cadbury's instant hot chocolate for one of the bags.

A few minutes later, Sherlock and John were sitting in front of of the TV with a hot chocolate, watching Ultimate Big Brother.

Half way through the show, John got up to put his mug in the sink and go to the toilet. He sneaked a glance over to where Sherlock was sitting and was surprised to see he had fallen asleep! Picking him up, he carried the boy to Sherlock's bedroom, placing him in the bed and tucking the covers round him. He didn't even stir.

_He must be completely zonked out, _John thought, grinning.

The next morning Sherlock woke up and found that he was in his room. Confused, he rolled over to face his desk and saw a t-shirt and pair of sweat pants folded up, and a mug of hot chocolate there. For the first time in a while, his smile was of real happiness.

_I know, the ending was bad, the chapter wasn't that long, there wasn't much Anderson-bashing and Sherlock wasn't that stupid. But the next chapter will be better, I swear! Also, I know that the __twelve-year-old Sherlock I've been writing is acting younger than that age, but think about it like this. Sherlock's childish at his normal age, so can you imagine what he's like when he's younger? Like I said, next updates might come slower. Well, I won't be updating tomorrow because I have to gut my room. And there's a LOT of stuff in there. Reviews make me happy!_

Oh, and Merlin starts on the eleventh (this month.) Just for those other Merlin fans.


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